


Kintsukuroi

by allonsy_gabriel



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Attempt at Humor, Body Image, Chronic Pain, Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hugs, Insecurity, Kravitz is the best BF, Love, M/M, Personal Growth, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, honestly get you a man like my boy Kravitz, listen taako's got issues, not quite acceptance yet but like, wonderland fucked him up okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-19 06:15:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22673161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsy_gabriel/pseuds/allonsy_gabriel
Summary: Taako knows he’s got enough ego to fill up an entire secret moon base.He’s arrogant. He’s self-centered. He’s vain.But also? He’s a baller wizard, super fucking powerful, saved the world, like, a bajillion times, a bomb-as-fuck chef, natch, don’t even fucking worry about it. Plus, he’s absolutely fabulous and fucking gorgeous, so like?Or at least.Hewasfucking gorgeous.Past tense.
Relationships: Kravitz/Taako (The Adventure Zone)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 209





	Kintsukuroi

**Author's Note:**

> *smacks taako in the head* this bad boy can store so much self-projection in him!!!

Here’s the deal:

Taako might be an idiot, but he’s not  _ stupid _ . Maybe he does dumb shit, like, constantly, and  _ maybe _ he plays up the whole  _ simple idiot wizard _ thing, but also, that’s the easiest way to keep people from expecting shit from him, and while Taako isn’t stupid, he  _ is  _ lazy.

Taako’s lazy, which he knows because he’s kinda ridiculously smart, and (this is a great segway, way to go, inner monologue)  _ very fucking self-aware _ .

For instance: Taako knows he’s got enough ego to fill up an entire secret moon base.

He’s arrogant. He’s self-centered. He’s  _ vain _ .

But also? He’s a baller wizard, super fucking powerful, saved the world, like, a  _ bajillion _ times, a bomb-as-fuck chef, natch, don’t even fucking worry about it. Plus, he’s absolutely  _ fabulous  _ and fucking  _ gorgeous _ , so like?

Or at least.

He  _ was _ fucking gorgeous.

Past tense.

It’s a stupid thing to be hung up on, honestly. He should—he shouldn’t care about something as petty as his looks, right? Not now, now that the Hunger is gone and the universe is saved and he’s super fucking famous and he’s got a super hot boyfriend and Lup is  _ back _ , he should be  _ fine _ , y’know?

And yet.

_ Fuck _ .

Taako stares at his face in the mirror and feels sick to his stomach.

He’s not—

He’s not  _ pretty _ .

He’s not ugly, not really, but he’s not  _ pretty _ and it  _ hurts _ .

His hair is still long and wavy, but the colour is duller, more like rust than a bright, shining bronze, and it’s frizzy and dry, with flyaways sticking out of the loose braid he’d tied it into that morning.

His skin is no longer smooth and perfectly clear. His complexion is uneven, his face covered in marks, red and brown and bumpy, an acne scar here and there. The pores around his nose are  _ massive, _ his dark circles have dark circles, and even his freckles look off, no longer delicate and soft, more like ink splatter across his cheeks and nose and forehead.

His fucking  _ teeth are crooked _ .

He looks at his face, and it doesn’t feel like  _ him _ . It doesn’t—he’s not that  _ thing  _ in the mirror, twisted and ruined and imperfect, with a bump in its nose chipmunk cheeks.

“Taako?” a voice calls through the bathroom, soft and a little concerned. “Love, are you almost ready? We’re supposed to be at Lup’s in ten.”

“Mhm,” Taako replies, shaking his head just a bit, snapping himself out of whatever weird trance he’d fallen into.

He winces at the way his voice sounds rough and cracked.

“Taako?” Kravitz asks again, sounding more worried than before. “Dearest, are you alright?”

Taako  _ isn’t  _ alright. He feels sick, his stomach doing the fucking fantasy-Cha Cha Slide while he white-knuckles the bathroom counter.

He takes a deep breath, swallows.

“Taako’s good, Pumpkin King,” he says, picking up the Krebstar. He’d been planning on whipping out the good ol’ fashioned cosmetics, a bunch of creams and powders and soft brushes and eyeliner pencils. He loves it, usually, the process of turning his face into a work of fucking  _ art _ , but…

Tonight, it doesn’t feel like enough.

“Pumpkin King?” Kravitz asks.

“‘S from Tuson,” Taako says, twirling his glaive in his hands. “Old movie. All the goth kids loved it. Actually, you’d probably dig it.”

He waits for Kravitz to start laughing so that he doesn’t hear as Taako casts  _ Disguise Self _ and watches as his face melts back into something recognisable, something  _ acceptable _ .

He swings the door open a moment later, leaning against the frame (his looks weren’t the only things he lost in Wonderland—ever since he got hit by that  _ fucking _ washing machine, his knees have been  _ shit _ , and standing upright for any length of time hurts like  _ hell _ ) and grinning his signature shit-eating grin.

“Alright, Bone Daddy,” he says, “let’s get this show on the road.”

Kravitz narrows his eyes at him, looks him over. “You look nice,” he says, but it’s not…

It’s not the way he usually says it. Usually, when he compliments Taako’s appearance, it’s enthusiastically, his red eyes wide and soft, his lips quirked into a smile, all his sappy, gross emotions leaking into his voice. He usually pulls Taako in close, presses a kiss to his forehead, his cheek, his lips. He usually calls him lovely, gorgeous,  _ beautiful _ .

Now, he simply looks at Taako, his head tilted ever-so-slightly to the side, his brows furrowed, his lips pursed.

He says Taako looks  _ nice _ , and there’s no feeling behind the words, and Taako?

Taako feels something  _ snap _ .

He clenches his jaw and takes a deep breath, trying to swallow down the  _ whatever  _ that seems to have lodged itself in his throat.

He expects to feel angry—he’s cast the  _ fucking  _ glamour, he’s  _ pretty _ , what more does Kravitz  _ want _ —but instead, he feels…

Hollow.

Is it not enough? Is even—

Is he that broken, now, that people can tell, even through his magic?

Taako stands there, propped up against the doorway to his massive, marble bathroom, in his massive, glittering mansion, dressed in blue satin pants embroidered with silver and gold flowers, dripping in rings and bracelets and pedants and charms, surrounded by the proof of his accomplishments, surrounded by the evidence that he’ll never be worthless, that he’ll never be  _ nothing _ , ever again, and he’s never felt uglier, never felt  _ emptier _ in his life.

“Thanks, Krav,” he says, and he can hear the strain in his voice, the exhaustion, the way it feels as if his throat is full of broken glass. He pushes himself upright, balances just a bit against the Krebstar. Tries to smile, feels it fraying at the edges. “Let’s go. Gods know we don’t wanna keep Lup waiting.”

And he goes to move, to take a step forward, to  _ leave _ , the get out of whatever terrible, horrible, awful bubble of  _ nothing _ he’s somehow stepped in, and instead finds himself caught by Kravitz’s hand on his arm.

“Taako,” Kravitz says again—he says it  _ so often _ , repeats Taako’s name over and over and over again, as if to remind them both that he’s here and he’s not leaving, not going anyway, not whisked away on some magical friendship boat, not going to  _ forget all this and _ — “Taako, love, we—we need to talk.”

Taako’s shoulders slump inward and he shifts more weight onto the Krebstar—kudos to past him for making a weapon that’s tall enough to also act as a fucking walking stick, good, uh, good fucking subconscious insight, there, past-Taako—staring at the floor.

“About  _ what _ ?” he asks because he’s not  _ stupid _ but sometimes it’s easier if people think he is.

But Kravitz isn’t  _ people _ , and Taako can all but  _ feel _ the way the reaper rolls his eyes. “Taako,” he repeats,  _ again _ , and it fucking  _ hurts _ .

“Okay, okay!” Taako shouts, throwing his free arm up in the air. “Fine, fucking—sure, okay, let’s do  _ this _ , then, now, when—when we’ve got fucking  _ places to be _ , great.”

Kravitz is unmoved by his dramatics.

Taako sighs.

There’s silence.

And then…

“Look,” Taako mutters, staring at the ceiling, praying to every fucking god he can think of that he’ll be able to get through this fucking conversation without doing something unforgivable like  _ showing fucking emotions _ . “Look, I—I get it, I’m not—it’s not the same, right? Like, I know you said you didn’t mind it, but it’s still not the same, y’know? And a glamour can only do so much, I know that, so if you—look, if this ain’t doing it for you, tell me now, okay? I—I’ll try and fix it, somehow, but if I can’t, and you—well. I’d like to know now, Kravitz. You could at least do me that and fucking  _ tell me now _ .”

Kravitz doesn’t say a  _ fucking  _ word. Not a damn thing. And Taako looks down from the ceiling, looks at Kravitz’s face, and sees him standing there with his jaw on the  _ fucking _ floor, looking like a statue or some shit, and he says, “Dude, you’re gonna catch flies, and I’m not gonna fucking kiss you if there’s been bugs in your mouth, seriously. Taako’s lips are a strictly no-bug zone, bubbeleh.”

Kravitz blinks once.

Twice.

(He used to not blink at all, what with being fucking  _ dead _ and all that shit, but Taako had told him it was creepy as fuck, actually, and so now he  _ does _ blink—although still less than an actual living person, and often for  _ dramatic effect _ .)

And then he says, “Taako, are you—okay, what, and I cannot stress this enough,  _ the fuck  _ are you talking about?”

“Uh, y’know,” Taako says with what he hopes looks like a casual shrug. “I’m, like? Not hot, anymore? And it’s getting to you, obvs, so like… if that’s gonna be a  _ thing _ , in the future, I’d like to know bout it now so I can, like, try and find a magical plastic surgeon or some shi—”

“Oh, darling,” Kravitz says, not even letting Taako finish his sentence, which is, y’know,  _ rude _ — “Taako, do you—do you really—you think—”

He can’t finish the sentence, and the look on his face is…

He looks fucking  _ distraught _ , is the thing, and seeing that look on Kravitz’s face hurts more than it should, really. It makes Taako’s heart feel like it’s being fucking  _ split in twain _ .

Gods, shit was so much easier when he simply  _ didn’t fucking care _ .

(It wasn’t, not really—maybe things like this, little specific moments, were easier, but everything else? Literally,  _ everything else _ ?

Not caring about that is so damn hard.)

Taako doesn’t say anything.

So Kravitz takes a long, deep breath that, technically, he  _ doesn’t even need _ , and pulls Taako into the living room, down onto the couch. He’s still got that stupid fucking  _ look  _ on his face, and he’s holding Taako’s hands like he’s something delicate, something fragile, something—

(Precious. Like Taako’s something  _ precious _ , and the thought of that makes him sick.)

“I love you, Taako,” Kravitz says softly, and Taako hopes that his face isn’t doing something dumb and sappy without his permission. “I love you, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, of course, natch,” Taako says, clearing his throat halfway through. “Who—who wouldn’t, y’know? I’m pretty—I’m pretty great.”

Kravitz stares at him for another moment and sighs again. “Then why—why would you think I’d—what have I done to convince you that I’m not—that you’re not  _ doing it for me _ ?” he asks, and he sounds  _ genuinely _ confused, like this is some big mystery, like they oughta call Angus over and have him fucking— _ World’s Greatest Detective  _ this shit.

Taako rolls his eyes. “I’m not stupid, Krav,” he says. “I saw—when I walked out of the bathroom, and you—I  _ look nice _ ? What kinda horseshit? Like, dude, that wasn’t convincing  _ at all _ . What’d you roll on that deception check, huh, babe? I’m betting a four,  _ max _ .”

Kravitz says, “Oh  _ fuck _ ,” and Taako feels his heart drop down into the soles of his four-inch metallic gold pumps.

He forces himself to laugh, and it’s weak and watery, and Kravitz looks absolutely  _ terrified _ , for a moment, and Taako figures that this is it, then, they’ve had a good run, but he’s got that ol’ Taako Luck TM and all good things must come to a fucking end, apparently, and the universe won’t even let him have  _ this _ , won’t even grant him more than a  _ smidgen  _ of happiness before ripping it right the fuck away—

And then he’s being tugged into Kravitz’s chest, and his face is being pushed into Kravitz’s shoulder, and honestly, it’s a good fucking thing he chose to go with  _ disguise self _ and not actual makeup because gods know it’d be smeared to  _ all fucking hell _ .

“I’m so sorry,” Kravitz says, quietly, his mouth just an inch away from Taako’s ear. “I—shit, Taako, I didn’t—I didn’t think you’d—”

“My passive perception is  _ killer _ , my man—”

“No, no, listen, that’s—Taako, I wasn’t—I didn’t mean I don’t like the glamour—or, well, I  _ guess _ I meant that, but not because—not because it’s not  _ attractive enough _ ,” Kravitz struggles to explain, and maybe Taako  _ is  _ stupid because nothing Kravitz is saying is making  _ any _ sense.

“Then what—”

“I don’t like it—well, I mean, I don’t  _ dislike  _ it, but I don’t like it as much as—I like  _ you _ , Taako. I love you, actually.”

“Cool, great, love you too, what do you  _ mean _ ?”

“I don’t—you don’t have to  _ do this _ , Taako. I like  _ you _ .”

“This  _ is  _ me, dude! This was—is— _ whatever _ , this was it for, like, 200 years—”

“But I love you  _ now _ —”

“Yeah, okay, but maybe I  _ don’t _ ,” Taako snaps, and  _ there _ it is, there’s that anger he’s been expecting since this whole fucking thing started. “Maybe—maybe the issue here isn’t whether or not  _ you  _ love me, maybe it’s—maybe it’s the fact that sometimes I look in the mirror and I don’t even fucking  _ recognise _ myself, or maybe it’s that for my  _ whole life _ , I’ve looked like one thing, and now it’s  _ gone _ . Maybe it’s that I  _ lost Lup _ , and yeah, okay, I’ve got her back now, but it's not—I lost part of her, part of  _ us _ , forever, and it’s not the  _ same _ , Krav! So maybe  _ you _ love it, but I  _ don’t _ !”

Kravitz is silent, for a moment, and then he says, “But I thought this was all because—”

“Listen, there’s—there’s layers here, yeah? Jeezy creezy, dude,  _ please _ don’t make me use the  _ Shrek metaphor _ to describe my trauma, here, I’m literally begging you.”

And, thank  _ everything _ , Kravitz laughs.

Kravitz laughs, and Taako smiles, just a little, because, yeah, okay, this is fine. This is good. Great. Funny is—funny is  _ doable _ . He can do funny. Funny doesn’t involve, like,  _ feelings _ , which is, y’know,  _ the fucking ideal _ .

Neither of them say anything. They just… sit. There. Together.

Y’know.

Okay, nevermind, this  _ sucks _ . This is the worst. If Taako has to sit here, silent, for another  _ fucking _ second he’s going to actually, literally die, and then his boyfriend, the  _ grim reaper _ , is gonna have to take him to Death Jail, so, like—

No thanks, actually.

“So… we good?” he asks, and it’s maybe the most awkward thing he’s  _ ever _ said, but if it gets them through this moment, he’ll deal with it.

“Uh, I’m pretty sure that’s up to you. You’re the one with the—the layers? I guess? Is that what you said?” Kravitz asks, and Taako releases a deep breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

“Yeah, that’s—I’m good. You know. Taako’s good out here and all that.”

Kravitz seems unimpressed.

“Okay, so—maybe it’s not  _ great _ , but, like. I can deal, y’know? I just—yeah. I’ll be okay.”

Kravitz raises a single eyebrow, and Taako groans because really,  _ really _ , he’s about had it with fucking  _ emotions _ today.

“I just! It sucks, right? It sucks  _ so much ass _ , Krav, you don’t even understand, and I  _ hate it _ . I feel like—I need you to, like—look, I dunno what you want from me, man! It feels… it’s nice. When you compliment me. Like, duh, of course. So… keep that up? I guess? Can we be done talking about it, now?”

Kravitz sighs but seems to be placated, for the moment,  _ thank gods _ . “Of course, darling,” he says, “I just—I need you to know, I really  _ do _ love you, no matter what you look like—”

“That’s super great to hear, babe, because again, you  _ are  _ a skeleton sometimes, which is—”

“Could you maybe think about—about not? Not wearing the glamour? All the time?”

And that’s…

That’s a thought, y’know?

Like, that’s definitely an option. A thing. A thing that Taako could consider. Absolutely.

Natch.

“I mean,” Taako says, leaning back against the arm of the couch, staring at his hands. “I mean, yeah. I can—think. I can think about it. Get those—get the ol’ brain cells up and, uh. Running. Yeah.”

Taako hears Kravitz sigh, but it’s less of a sigh of sadness or exhaustion, and more one of semi-exasperated fondness, which is pretty much Taako’s sweet spot.

“I just don’t want you to—don’t think you have to try and change for me,” Kravitz says, and he takes Taako’s hands in his own and holds them against his chest, close enough that Taako can feel Kravitz’s slow, laborious heartbeat against his palms.

Taako wishes hearing that wasn’t as much of a relief as it is, but it’s nice to know that Kravitz is sticking around for more than just Taako’s looks.

(It’s more than nice, actually. It’s incredible, like a block of ice has melted in his stomach and he’s no longer so cold, no longer so weighed down.)

He doesn’t feel quite so empty.

And Taako’s not stupid, and he’s  _ very  _ self-aware, so he knows that—he knows that things aren’t, like,  _ fixed _ or whatever, now. As wonderful as Kravitz is, he’s not some Prince Charming who’s come to break Taako’s terrible curse.

Layers and shit.

(And  _ gods _ , does Taako hate that he’s so  _ fucking _ close to using the damn  _ Shrek metaphor _ —this planar system doesn’t even  _ have _ Shrek, and if Taako accidentally speaks it into existence he’ll have to have Kravitz kill him for realsies.)

But for now?

For now, Kravitz pulls him in all the way and presses a kiss to the top of his head and whispers, “For what it’s worth, you  _ do _ look beautiful. I mean, you  _ always _ look beautiful, to me, but—but if you’re going for, like, standardised, societal definitions of beauty then—you look lovely, Taako, and I’m sorry if I ever made you doubt that.”

And that—

That’s good.

It’s actually really fucking good.

And so Taako presses his face further into Kravitz’s shoulder and lets himself be held, be safe, be reminded that maybe,  _ maybe _ , even if his shit is, frankly,  _ absolutely wack _ , there’s hope that, someday, eventually, things will be better. 

And when Kravitz whispers, “How pissed do you think Lup will be about us being late?” Taako can’t help but laugh, can’t help but smile.

**Author's Note:**

> please tell me what you think!


End file.
